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Inkwell
' editing is not appreciated ' .Inkwell. .appearance. :Inkwell is rather short for her age, yet it doesn't make her any less intimidating. She has sharp features, snout curving in sharp angles, matching the cold eyes indicating she is better left alone. :Her scales are smooth obsidian black, healthy and far from the graying of age. The have a reflective sheen, flashing white under bright light. When polished, they become a mirror, showing a darkened picture upon the black. :Her underbelly is a soft shade of midnight blue, matching the sky as the sun disappears below the horizon. :Her spines are dusky blue, a few shades lighter than her underbelly. They seem to have a mottled texture, some parts seeming the slightest bit darker than others. :Her horns match her talons. All silvery white, with a subtle sparkle, as if dipped in moonlight. They glint, almost like IceWing scales. :Her wing membranes are a smooth void, velvety in texture but thin. The black isn't reflective, instead sucking in almost all light. Not all, as nothing can be so complete, but it nearly gets there. :With the black framing them, the stars on her membranes glimmer all the more. They act as tiny mirrors, catching light and losing it a moment later. Scattered unevenly and of different sizes, yet all the same shade of white silver. :Her eyes are dark blue, hiding jaded bits of green. The depths rarely show her mood, stirring up mysterious aura around her. :She holds herself tall, her posture shortening the height difference between her and others. She keeps herself in a way that make others keep their difference. :Small glasses with iridescent silver frames perch on her snout. Not stylish, but fulfilling its function. .personality. :Inkwell seems to split into two different personalities, two parts of her that appear at different times. :The first is the one with the temper, the part that flares at the slightest irritation and is willing to shoot others down, with words… or physically. :She's often like that when out mingling with society, talking with friends and dealing with various jerks throughout the day. She's not the greatest with roasts, but sometimes one comes up that deserves a gold star. :She's willing to tell someone annoying her how idiotic they are. :With her friends, she jokes about the simple, true fact that she's pretty uncultured. She doesn't know or care about the current styles and songs, or whatever the latest gossip is. She couldn't care less, but still humors herself with the lack of knowledge. :It's the part that acts instinctively, doing things before she's really thought it through. Of course, she tries to avoid doing such things, but it's hard. :She has a tendency to lash out, and a quieted temper is a rare, fragile thing. She gets into yelling and growling and punching pretty fast. A little clumsy socially, but she gets revenge fast. :But then there's the other half. The logical, creative, quiet one. :Inkwell is more of an introvert, preferring a little nest with books over a loud party. She has plenty of friends, but only a few are close. Even then, she sometimes needs some times alone. :She's at her most philosophical at this time, questioning life and stamping down the part that giggles and answers "42, duh." She likes staring up at the stars, finding patterns that aren't constellations and questioning if life lives up there, somewhere. :She writes by herself, solitude unveiling new ideas and inspirations. Alone, Inkwell finds her ability to write, to create pieces others want to read. This part of her is the one that creates. :She prefers normal tales with a hint of weirdness over the full out adventure, burying herself in the tales of her characters. It's a separate world where she's in charge, able to kill and create with the scratch of a quill. :She's calmer when she's by herself, able to think without the constant distractions of life. She finds writing easier, as anyone questioning her or hating her could only write a letter she could easily avoid. :So much better than being stuck with someone yelling in her ear. :Inkwell's free to do what she likes when she's alone, not checked in by society. Out in the open, she has on a shield, to intimidate others, but it's the other side that truly makes a story out of nothing. .backstory. :Her life was pretty much normal. :She was born in the rainforest, approximately 20 years after the NightWing Exodus. It was on a clear night, with two hanging crescents and one moon on the edge of being full. A normal night, one that failed to gift her with any special power, something that her parents likely weren't pleased with. :She grew up with a middle class status, her family able to find a little niche decently high on the social ladder. School with fully integrated with RainWings, along with the scattering of hybrids. :Her temper developed early on. .relationships. :Scrollseer - :Starscape - .trivia. :*Her name is defined as a container for ink typically housed in a hole in a desk. ::*This was the inspiration for her occupation :*She likes candles and lantern aesthetics :*She will never understand the dragons who hate eggs ::*Yet also a hater of all mushrooms and cheeses :*Doesn't quite know what love is like :*Weak around fuzzy balls of floof, or other similarly soft creatures :*Always wanted a pet; never had enough time to take care of one :*Tends to really invest in things :*A pure procrastinator .gallery. Inkwell Cloud.png|�� Inkwell - ReverbtheDragon.png|Reverb! 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